Rotten to the Core (21 page)

Bree came alongside. “Hey, you did great. I told you it was easy.”

It wasn’t until she had climbed down and brushed off the seat of her pants that Meg realized she’d doubled her audience: Art Preston was leaning against his squad car, grinning.

“Looking good!” he called out. “Your first time?”

Meg matched his grin. “Hi, Art. Yes, it is. Seth found this for me, and Bree’s teaching me how it works.”

Art nodded a greeting to Bree, then turned to Meg. “You got a minute?”

Meg felt a small chill, and her smile wilted. “Sure. You have some news?”

“I just thought I should bring you up-to-date. I take it our friend Marcus hasn’t been in touch?”

“No, not that I expected to hear from him. And I wasn’t about to call him.”

Bree was shifting from side to side, looking uncomfortable. “Meg, I should go. I’ll come back tomorrow and we can take out the tractor again, okay?”

“Sure, Bree. And thanks for the help.”

Without any further formality, Bree headed for her car and pulled out.

Art watched her departure. “She working out?”

“I think so. She seems to know what she’s talking about, and thank heavens she knows how to drive a tractor. You have time to come in?”

“Sure.” Art followed her into the kitchen. As Meg puttered around, fixing another pot of coffee, he sprawled in one of Meg’s kitchen chairs and shrugged off his coat. “Getting almost too warm for the coat these days.”

Meg didn’t feel up to chitchat: Art had to be here for a reason. “Marcus was here, looking at the barn, after Seth told him about the pesticide. I don’t think he found anything useful.”

“So he’s taking all the right steps, if a little late. I guess he’s got to go through the motions.”

Meg poured two mugs of coffee and set them on the table before sitting down. “Okay. Tell me.”
Might as well get it over with.

“Got the word from the ME. The formal report won’t be ready for a while, but thanks to our heads-up, he looked for methidathion and found it.”

Meg couldn’t say she was surprised, though she had hoped it wouldn’t be true. “From here?” she asked.

Art shook his head. “There’s no way to know where that particular batch came from, at least not without a lot of fancy and expensive testing. So we can’t eliminate that stuff from your barn as the source. And the same stuff was in the vomit, too, so we know he was still alive when he got here.”

Not good news. Jason had died here, and Meg still didn’t know why. “Art, is there any chance it was suicide?”

“Physically? Well, there’s no sign of struggle, no injections. Nothing conclusive. But, Meg?”

“What?” she said dully. She had a feeling she didn’t want to hear what he was going to say next.

“There’s a lot to suggest that it wasn’t suicide. The ME puts the time of death sometime early Sunday morning, maybe between midnight and six. Jason had dinner with a bunch of folks on Saturday night.”

“The GreenGrow meeting,” Meg interjected.

“Yes. Plenty of witnesses say he was in fine form there, nothing out of the ordinary. He left with this Daphne Lydon woman, and she says she spent an hour or two with him, and he was fine when she went home.”

“She told me.”

That surprised Art. “You’ve talked to her?”

“More like, she talked to me. She found me and told me all about how close she and Jason were. And that they were together that night and then she went home.”

“That’s what she told the detectives. She lives in one of those places that rents out rooms to students, but it sounds like she’s kind of a loner and nobody pays much attention to her. Okay, so, the ME says the dose Jason got would have killed him within six hours, or at the very least incapacitated him. Marcus says his car was still in Amherst. So how’d he get from Amherst at midnight to your place?”

Meg met his eyes. “I asked Daphne the same question. She didn’t know. But clearly he would have needed help,” she said slowly. “No way he could have walked. So somebody else knew. Somebody brought him here and left him to die.” She sat silently for a few moments, then said slowly, “You know, it bothered me that if he had killed himself, he didn’t leave a note. I would expect Jason, from what I’ve heard, to have left a detailed manifesto or something. The police didn’t find anything like that at his place, did they?”

“No. And they didn’t find any pesticide, either.”

“Why here, Art? What did I have to do with this? I didn’t know the man or his friends. Although I’ve certainly met a few people who might have wanted Jason out of the way.”

“Meg, I can’t answer that. Even if it was political, or even if he was depressed, somebody had to help him die.”

Meg debated with herself before saying, “Art, Bree was at that dinner. She had a relationship with Jason, though she says it ended two years ago. Still, I don’t know her well enough to be sure there wasn’t more to it than what she’s told me.”

“Huh. Why’d she go to the meeting? Did she say?”

“She said Michael Fisher—he’s one of the founders of GreenGrow—asked her to come. She said she thought Michael was trying to balance out Jason’s radical bent by bringing in more middle-of-the-road members. Anyway, I assume Marcus knows this. What’s he doing now?”

“Investigating. Say what you will about the man, he’s a competent investigator. I’m sorry it doesn’t clear you completely, Meg, but it’s going to be hard to prove you had anything to do with this.”

“But even if I’m clear, there are people I know who are still under suspicion, aren’t there? Christopher, Bree, even Seth?”

Art shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t borrow trouble, Meg. Marcus is stubborn, and he’ll get to the bottom of this. Look, I’ve got to go. I just wanted to let you know where things stand.” He stood up.

Meg stood as well. “Thank you, Art. And I hope Marcus is very good at his job.”

At the door, Art turned and smiled at her. “You just hang in there, okay? Hey, you looked pretty good on that tractor.”

Meg recognized that he was trying to change the subject and was warmed by his effort. “Thanks. It was kind of fun, and easier than I expected. Look, Art, I do appreciate your coming by and filling me in.”

“Hey, I don’t want you to sit here and stew. If I hear anything new, I’ll let you know.” He opened the door. “I’d better be getting back. Thanks for the coffee.”

She smiled. “Thanks for the update.”

After Art left, Meg sat down again with her cold coffee, staring into space. She tried to reconstruct that Saturday night. Nothing had awakened her; nothing had seemed out of the ordinary on Sunday. The road that ran past her property was a quiet one, little traveled. And there were few houses from which people could have seen anyone dragging around a dying man. Even the presence of her fence wouldn’t have stopped anyone who was really determined.

It seemed so peaceful here. Funny—she would have said she was happy living in Boston, with all its lights and noise. Somehow in the short time she’d lived in Granford, she had come to appreciate the silence. But now the isolation bothered her. It shouldn’t be so easy to just wander around the countryside disposing of dead bodies.

Why her orchard?

The next morning Meg was surprised to see Christopher and Bree arrive together in the university’s van. Even from a distance Meg could see that Christopher looked extraordinarily pleased with himself: there was an extra spring in his step, and he never stopped smiling.

She opened the back door before they reached it. “Good morning. You’re here bright and early. Are you coming in or heading straight for the orchard?”

“Good morning, Meg. What a grand day! We’ll go up the hill later, but first I need to talk with you. Both of you, in fact.”

Despite his smile, Meg felt a tingle of fear. Recently nobody’s surprise announcements had been happy ones. “Come on in, then. Coffee?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any tea, would you?”

“Coming up.”

“I’ll do it,” Bree interrupted. She had followed Christopher into the kitchen, looking wary. Meg tried to read her expression. What had Christopher said to her on the way over?

“Thank you, Bree. Come, Meg, sit. We have much to discuss.” For the first time he noticed her piebald floor. “Good heavens, my dear! What have you done?”

“It’s my latest home improvement—and I use the term cautiously. I plan to refinish it soon.”

“Ah. Well, the wood appears to be in excellent condition. I shall look forward to seeing the finished product. Shall we sit now?”

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Meg sat.

Christopher laughed. “Meg, you look as though I’m a dentist and I’ve just told you you need a tooth pulled. I have excellent news.”

“All right,” Meg said cautiously. “What?”

“I admit I was perhaps less than forthcoming the last time we spoke, but only because I had a superstitious fear that things would not work out. But they have, in fact, and I thought you should know. No doubt there will be press coverage, in any event.”

“Christopher, what’s going on?”

“DeBroCo has agreed to fund a new integrated pest management research institute at the university, and the department has asked me to assume control of it.”

“DeBroCo? The chemical company? Don’t they make pesticides?”

“They do, but they recognize the importance of using them responsibly, in coordination with other strategies. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but insects can develop a resistance to pesticides, which renders the pesticides useless. If you wish to be cynical, you can say that the company is just protecting its future profits, but this way everyone benefits. And they’re not attaching any strings to the institute. They’re willing to support all aspects of research, including natural viruses and natural enemies. They agree that a coordinated program is the most practical approach for the future.”

The knot in Meg’s stomach unraveled. “Well, then, I guess congratulations are in order. What will this involve? Are they going to build something?”

“Indeed they are—a new building on campus, which will of course bear the corporate name. But I have carte blanche to lay out the laboratory requirements.”

“Does that mean you’ll have to give up your own research efforts? With the orchard, for example?” Something new to worry about?

Christopher was quick to understand her concern. “Meg, there will be many demands on my time, but I wouldn’t abandon you now. Your orchard has been the centerpiece of the university’s pomology research for a generation, and of course I plan to maintain our studies here. Rest assured that I will continue to provide oversight, and Bree can call on me whenever she needs me, although I have every confidence in her ability to carry on. And you as well, once you have acquired some experience. You might not see as much of me on site, but I will remain a part of this project.”

Christopher looked so happy that Meg was reluctant to complain. She knew he had been concerned about whether the orchard would survive at all in the face of the threatened public development in Granford, and at least Meg and Seth and the town had staved that off. But Christopher wasn’t far from retirement age, and this new institute would no doubt be the crowning achievement of his professional career. From a business perspective, she was less sure that DeBroCo’s generous gift would come with no strings attached, but she had to trust the university to look out for its own interests, and Christopher to keep them on track. “Well, then, I’d say a toast was called for, if it weren’t so early in the morning. Congratulations, Christopher. It sounds wonderful, and I’m happy for you. When will all this start?”

“There will be a press conference on Monday, and we should break ground soon. The building should be completed within the year.”

“That fast?”

“The plans have been under way quietly for some time, and as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s been a construction slump in the region of late, so we should have no problem finding willing workers. In any event, I wanted to come here today with Bree so we could go over your spring needs together. I want you to be fully prepared, insofar as possible. I know you’ve been auditing the orchard management class, but nothing matches hands-on experience.”

“All right, I’m game. What do I need to know?”

As Christopher extracted papers from a file folder, Meg glanced at Bree. She didn’t look happy. Did she have issues with the involvement of a major chemical company in her department? But since the company had been funding her education, it wasn’t as if Bree wasn’t already aware of DeBroCo and its activities. She’d have to ask Bree later, when Christopher wasn’t around. For now, Meg needed to focus on what Christopher was telling her.

“Forgive me if this sounds like a lecture, my dear. Our goal in your orchard is not to eradicate all insects but rather to maintain a low level so as to encourage the population of natural enemies and to discourage the development of pesticide resistance. It isn’t easy to achieve this balance, but that is our intention.”